“Some don’t like so much sugar in their hams,” said Mrs. Waule. “But my poor brother would always have sugar.”

“If any person demands better, he is at liberty to do so; but, God bless me, what an aroma! I should be glad to buy in that quality, I know. There is some gratification to a gentleman”⁠—here Mr. Trumbull’s voice conveyed an emotional remonstrance⁠—“in having this kind of ham set on his table.”

He pushed aside his plate, poured out his glass of ale and drew his chair a little forward, profiting by the occasion to look at the inner side of his legs, which he stroked approvingly⁠— Mr. Trumbull having all those less frivolous airs and gestures which distinguish the predominant races of the north.